(no subject)
But I Never Have Car Trouble!
I’ve had it up to here with you critics.
Yes, I know I do not have a car and still do not drive and that I probably need to learn as much as this sentence needs to be punctuated. In fact, I’ve known all along, because I told myself that secret long before I told anyone else! And granted, I live in Los Angeles, a city not exactly designed for walking to and from places.
But is this really such a big deal? There are so many worse things to be in LA. It’s not as though still not driving yet is such a horrible stigma - I could be a drug dealer, or a slutty dancer at Tigerheat, or worst of all - an aspiring actor, serving you appetizers at TGI Friday’s and carefully slipping my headshot and resume under the bill. But I’m none of these things!
Am I crazy for not driving? I sure am… crazy like a fox! And besides, would you all really want me to drive? I’m the kind of person who would speed through a school zone accidentally on purpose (is that really such a crime?!). Perhaps I’m just better cut out for a Miss Daisy lifestyle.
In any event, I intend to get my license, at long last, this summer during my stay at home. But I’m glad I didn’t have a car here at school all this time. So, some of you nay-sayers want to be so high and mighty about it? I present to you a list of all the things I never had to worry about:
So laugh all you want, but I probably saved a little bit more than Donald Trump rakes in each year by not having to spend money on maintenance, repairs, bills, insurance, parking, gas, and fuzzy dice (not that I didn’t go use it to allay the rising costs of tuition, but you understand). So, all y’all hatas, suck it.
But don’t take that literally, either, because it’s spring, and this is the season when a young man’s (or lady’s; we’re in the 21st century now) fancy turns to sticky, sweaty lust, something I want to deal with even less than a car. Judging from the pheromone-induced madness going on over here in California, with people zipping about like frenzied piranhas in whose riverbed just fell a hapless cow or two, maybe by next year I’ll be glad to have a car, so that I can get the hell out of dodge.
But if anyone wants to come with, I claim shotgun - why drive if I don’t have to?
I’ve had it up to here with you critics.
Yes, I know I do not have a car and still do not drive and that I probably need to learn as much as this sentence needs to be punctuated. In fact, I’ve known all along, because I told myself that secret long before I told anyone else! And granted, I live in Los Angeles, a city not exactly designed for walking to and from places.
But is this really such a big deal? There are so many worse things to be in LA. It’s not as though still not driving yet is such a horrible stigma - I could be a drug dealer, or a slutty dancer at Tigerheat, or worst of all - an aspiring actor, serving you appetizers at TGI Friday’s and carefully slipping my headshot and resume under the bill. But I’m none of these things!
Am I crazy for not driving? I sure am… crazy like a fox! And besides, would you all really want me to drive? I’m the kind of person who would speed through a school zone accidentally on purpose (is that really such a crime?!). Perhaps I’m just better cut out for a Miss Daisy lifestyle.
In any event, I intend to get my license, at long last, this summer during my stay at home. But I’m glad I didn’t have a car here at school all this time. So, some of you nay-sayers want to be so high and mighty about it? I present to you a list of all the things I never had to worry about:
- Paying for gas with prices as inconsistent as they are high
- Sitting in traffic on the 405 at 7:00 PM. Or 1:00 PM. Or 3:00 AM.
- Finding a place to put my diverse collection of unpaid parking tickets
- Parking around campus, which is in no way difficult, does not at all take hours of circling like a vulture looking to feed, and is not remotely a feat even Hercules would be wont to fail
- Budgeting in repairs for the few dents which “magically appear” every month
- Navigating around hit-and-runs by other students whose anesthesia still hadn’t worn off from their lobotomies
- Navigating over any stalkers looming in the street outside my building
- Navigating through the Thursday night partiers before they have a chance to pee on the side of the car
- Playing D.D. and hoping to God your friend who had too many jello shooters isn’t going to recolor the car’s interior with his or her own “personal touch”
- Being the chauffeur for needy friends who don’t want to pay the $20 for a van service to the airport
- Driving back home from the airport alone, after dropping off your friends, and getting home after they arrive at their flight destination
- Waking up before dawn breaks to move my car, walking three blocks away to where I had to park the night before, and circling for fifteen minutes before I see another spot that I’ll have to return to in two hours to move from again
- Valet$, valet$, valet$
So laugh all you want, but I probably saved a little bit more than Donald Trump rakes in each year by not having to spend money on maintenance, repairs, bills, insurance, parking, gas, and fuzzy dice (not that I didn’t go use it to allay the rising costs of tuition, but you understand). So, all y’all hatas, suck it.
But don’t take that literally, either, because it’s spring, and this is the season when a young man’s (or lady’s; we’re in the 21st century now) fancy turns to sticky, sweaty lust, something I want to deal with even less than a car. Judging from the pheromone-induced madness going on over here in California, with people zipping about like frenzied piranhas in whose riverbed just fell a hapless cow or two, maybe by next year I’ll be glad to have a car, so that I can get the hell out of dodge.
But if anyone wants to come with, I claim shotgun - why drive if I don’t have to?